


Of Dreams and Dawn

by gluedwithgold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Pining, Stanford Era, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 05:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12764184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold/pseuds/gluedwithgold
Summary: Dean shows up at Stanford to visit Sam for Thanksgiving.





	Of Dreams and Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> My first story for the Sunday Morning Porn Club!  
> I tried to write PWP, I swear! But instead of post turkey-coma sex, I ended up writing this angsty piece.  
> It's a little darker than what I usually write - fair warning. 
> 
> As always, thanks to [non_tiembo_mala](http://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala) and  
> [Dancing Adrift](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift) for being the best beta-readers and friends a person could ask for. Love you both!

Sam woke with a gasp, the nightmare skittering away like roaches under a light. The banging startled him again, the door rattling on its hinges. His first instinct was to reach under his pillow for a knife or gun. Of course, when he found nothing there, he remembered why – he wasn’t in a crappy motel room, but in his dorm. He sighed, pushing away the last remnants of the dream from his mind. Still just a dream. 

Confusion washed over him again, because most of the campus had cleared out for the Thanksgiving break – all his friends had gone home to families and home-cooked turkey dinners. He was supposed to have a week of quiet by himself, not people banging on his door at – he cracked one eye open to look at the clock on the nightstand – two in the afternoon? Crap. 

Sighing, he threw back the covers and swung his legs out over the bed. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and the banging started up again, even louder than before. 

“Alright, alright! I’m coming!” Sam rolled his eyes as he stood up, then shuffled the few feet across the room to the door. He turned the lock, instinctively looking down to check the line of salt he’d laid down across the threshold (then hidden under a long strip of duct tape so no one would ask questions). Turning the knob and swinging the door open a few inches, Sam’s breath caught in his throat. “Dean….” 

“Heya, Sammy!” Dean had that smartass grin he’d perfected at ten years old plastered across his face. He lifted his hands, bringing a plastic grocery bag with two frozen turkey dinners sticking out of it into Sam’s line of vision. “Happy Thanksgiving!” 

“What are you doing here?” Sam opened the door wider and stepped back to allow his brother inside the cramped dorm room. As Dean walked in, looking around the space, Sam pushed his hair back from his face and took a deep breath. 

“Man I thought some of the motel rooms we stay in were small.” Dean plopped the grocery bag on the desk, then dropped down in the chair. “How ya doin’, little brother? Why were you sleeping in the middle of the afternoon?” 

“Well, I’m a little confused at the moment… Dean, it’s been–” 

“Over a year, I know. It’s about time I made it out here to see you, right?” Dean smirked.

“Is everything okay? I mean, is Dad…”

“He’s down in New Mexico, chasing a chupacabra.” 

“And he didn’t make you go with him?” 

“Nah, we’ve been going solo for most hunts lately. The simple ones, anyway. I just finished a quick salt ‘n burn up in Oregon, figured you’d have time off for turkey day, so I swung down.”

“Huh.” Sam dropped down on the end of his bed. “So, Dad doesn’t know you’re here.”

“Jesus, Sammy, can’t a guy visit his kid brother without an interrogation?” 

“Sorry, Dean, but we’ve talked three times on the phone since I left, and two of those times you were drunk. So it’s a little weird when you just show up out of the blue to visit.” 

“You hungry? I’m hungry.” Dean stood and scooped up the bag of TV dinners. “Where’s the microwave?” 

Sam sighed and reached for his sweatshirt. There was definitely something going on with his brother, and in true Dean form, he wasn’t talking about it. Maybe he’d take him out to a bar later, loosen him up with liquor. For now, though, he tugged his hoodie over his head and led the way to the common room so they could heat up Thanksgiving dinner. 

 

***

 

After eating while watching football on the TV in the lounge, Sam brought Dean back to his room. Dean nosed around in Sam’s piles of schoolwork that were covering the desk while Sam gathered up a clean towel and his shaving kit, then headed down the hall to shower before they headed out to find a bar open on Thanksgiving night. 

He stepped back into his room, towel slung around his hips and his hair still dripping onto his shoulders, to find Dean with his feet up on the desk, leaned back in the chair with his hands clasped behind his neck, dozing. He was still beautiful, his brother. Long and lean except for the slightest bit of softness around his middle, freckles still peppering a path across his nose. His eyelashes rested softly on his cheeks with his eyes closed, and the sight of them made Sam’s heart leap up into his throat. That old urge, the one where he wanted to kiss every millimeter of Dean’s face, was back like no time had passed. 

It was true that Sam wanted to go to college to get away from hunting, and get away from the control of his father. He did want a normal life, safe, free from ghosts and monsters, salt lines and Latin incantations. And the past year had been refreshing, never following a barked order, instead following syllabi and homework assignments. But at the heart of it all was… well, Sam’s heart. He’d been in love with his brother since he was fifteen, and the older he got, the harder it got to be around him. Leaving seemed like the best option. The only way to stop torturing himself. 

He’d thought after a year, maybe it would have subsided. Apparently that was a pipe dream, because as soon as Sam had seen his brother standing there on the other side of the door, it all came flooding back. The sweaty palms, the churning in his stomach, the twitch of his dick. He’d had all he could do to restrain himself and not tackle his brother right there in the hallway. 

All that aside, something was bothering Dean, and they were still brothers, so Sam started digging out some clean clothes and dressing so they could go out, get drunk, and Sam could pry it out of him. 

The clunk of the dresser drawer closing roused Dean from his nap, and he yawned. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and down his face before sitting up. Sam looked over as he was pulling on his jeans, and saw Dean’s jaw go slack and his face pale slightly. 

“Dude, you’re fucking scrawny! Have you been eating at all?” Dean was up and across the room, getting in Sam’s space with a firm hand to his shoulder, spinning him forward and back to take inventory of the state of his health. “What the fuck, Sam?”

“I’m fine, Dean. I eat plenty.” Sam yanked his arm away, dislodging Dean’s hand. The warmth where that hand had been lingered, tingled. “I just don’t have time to sit around watching movies and eating junk food anymore.” 

“No time, or no money?” Dean stared directly into Sam’s eyes. 

“No time.” Sam tightened his lips and stared back. 

“How much cash you got right now?”

“Dean…” 

“How much.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I don’t know, a hundred bucks or so.” 

Dean’s eyes darted over to the dresser, and before Sam could react, Dean was grabbing his wallet and pulling it open. 

“Dean, come on…” Sam made a half-assed attempt to snatch the wallet back. 

“Sixty-eight dollars. You have a job? When do you get paid again?” 

“Yes, I have a job, I get paid again soon.” Sam grabbed the wallet and tucked it into his back pocket. 

“Soon?” 

“Yes.” 

“Sam.” 

Sam rolled his eyes and let out a huff.

“Two weeks.” 

“Jesus, Sam. You get a meal plan with your full ride?” 

Sam ducked his head. 

Dean cleared his throat. 

“No,” Sam said. 

“Alright. Come on.” Dean plucked his jacket off the back of the chair and pulled it on, then stood at the door with his hand on the knob, waiting. “Finish getting dressed and let’s go.” 

“Where?” Sam said, standing up straighter. 

“Wherever there’s a pool table or a dart board. We’re gonna line your pockets before I leave.” Dean waved his hand in a rolling, ‘hurry up’ gesture, and Sam couldn’t do anything but put on his shirt and shoes, then follow his brother out the door. 

 

***

 

It was two in the morning before they stumbled back into Sam’s room, both half-drunk and smelling of beer and cigarettes. Sam had two hundred dollars in his pocket, but Dean had grumbled all the way home about it not being enough. They’d grabbed Dean’s bedroll from the trunk of the Impala on their way back, and he was busy spreading out the thin foam pad and sleeping bag on the floor. 

“I’ll take the floor, Dean. You can have the bed.” 

“The hell you will. At least I’ve got some padding on my bones to keep me comfortable. Get in bed, Sam.” Dean flopped down on the floor after shucking off his boots and jeans. Sam sighed, then stripped down to his boxers and slid under his blankets. Dean’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “You should have called, Sam.” 

Sam closed his eyes tight, pulled in a long, slow breath. 

“I know.” 

Sam listened as Dean exhaled, could almost hear him relaxing, his breath slowing as he started to drift off. He tried to slow his own breathing, settle the thumping of his heart. It’d been a year since he’d had this, the comfort and calm of his brother in the same room, sharing the same air. He didn’t want to fall asleep, didn’t want to miss a second of this, because it wasn’t going to last. He knew Dean would climb into the Impala in a few days, the engine would rumble to life then fade away. Sam would be left alone again, half his heart, half his soul, thundering down a highway chasing darkness. 

He did fall asleep, though. Lately every time he closed his eyes, slowed his brain, stopped the constant flow of caffeine into his blood, he fell asleep. He knew he was on the verge, almost sick, right on the edge of pushing his body too far with his obsession with school and lack of food. It made sense, really, that Dean would show up now, right when Sam needed him most. Like a psychic beacon, his brother just knew Sam needed him and couldn’t ask, couldn’t put aside the stubbornness to reach out. 

When he opened his eyes, thin layer of nightmare-sweat on his skin, the room was dim. Grey light seeped through the windows – that colorless veil that dawn casts before the real light takes over, parting the curtains to reveal the world everyone pretends is real but isn’t, still just a veil of another kind, because no one lets who they really are show on the outside. The green was there, though, two feet away – his brother’s eyes on him. Dean was sitting up, arms wrapped around his knees that were tucked up tight to his chest. He was watching Sam, his eyes unfiltered, his face clear of all the bravado, the masks he shifts between to never let the real Dean show. Now, in the pre-dawn haze, he wore an expression of concern, of vulnerable affection. Sam had seen it before, occasionally, brief glimpses in between masks falling down and covering it up. The expression that always made his heart leap, dance, trembling in his chest like a touch-starved puppy anticipating a hand scratching between its ears. 

The moment their eyes met, Sam could see the mask slipping on again, covering the truth of Dean. It happened in slow motion, a fog rolling in across his brother’s face. The ache in his chest told Sam – hold on, don’t lose it, not this time. So he let his eyes slip closed again, drifting back into sleep where his mind could cling to that pure version of his brother, just for a few more hours in between dreams.

 

***

 

The clunk of the door closing woke Sam again, followed by the rustle of plastic. He pried his eyes open to see Dean plopping a take-out bag on the dresser before taking a swig from one of the cups of coffee in his other hand. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty, you gonna rejoin the land of the living?” Dean smirked, handing over a steaming cup to Sam as he sat up. 

“Bite me, Dean, I’m on vacation.” Sam inhaled the rich, bitter steam before taking a gulp, his brain coming online as the heat trailed down into his stomach. “You been up long?” 

“A while. Got breakfast,” Dean said, handing over a styrofoam container and plastic fork, then sitting down at the desk with his own, flipping up the lid and plucking out a strip of bacon.

“Dude, what’s up with you? You never did tell me why you’re here.” Sam opened his own breakfast and stabbed at a pancake. 

“I told you.” Dean shrugged. “Just felt like visiting.” 

Sam sighed, set his food aside and swung his legs out from under the blankets, planting his feet on the cold tile floor. 

“It’s more than that, Dean, I can tell. You try to hide it but I can see right through you.” 

Dean looked up, swallowed his mouthful of eggs. He had that look, that glare that made most people stop in their tracks, back off. 

“Let it go, Sam. It’s just a visit. I was close by.” He narrowed his eyes, pausing a moment before returning to shoveling food in his mouth. “Eat your breakfast.” 

Sam leveled his own glare at his brother, but it went unnoticed. He picked up his take-out container and ate, his mind searching for answers at first, but soon focusing on nothing but the hot meal in front of him. 

 

***

 

That night, after a day of lounging around watching bad television – during which Dean had fed him twice more, pizza for lunch and burgers for dinner – Sam slipped into the familiar passenger seat of the Impala. They headed to the seedier part of town, Dean hell-bent on hustling more money to leave with Sam. The bar he chose was at the end of a street of run-down houses, the neon sign reading ‘POOL’ flickering in the window, half of the first ‘O’ stuttering on and off every few seconds. Sam took a deep breath as they stepped out of the car, steeling himself for what was to come. He’d always hated this part of the life. 

Two hours later, Dean was bent over the green felt, lining up his last shot of the game – eight ball in the side pocket, no banking. Sam was leaning against the wall, watching as he sipped his beer. Even though he hated this, he loved watching Dean play. His brother would inevitably strip down to one layer, bending and twisting as he lined up his shots so the muscles of his back and arms rolled and tensed under his tight t-shirt. Sam had become an expert at watching unnoticed over the years, drinking in his fill of his beautiful brother with no one, especially not Dean, any the wiser. 

The cue ball cracked into the eight, sending it into the pocket with a hollow thunk, and Dean straightened up, smirking. He reached for the pile of cash sitting on the edge of the table, only to have a meaty hand wrap around his wrist before he could pick it up. 

“You hustlin’ me, boy?” The sweaty older man stepped into Dean’s space, lifting his chin in the air. 

“Nah, man…” Dean tilted his head, stumbled backward a half step, still playing at being drunk, but the wad of cash making its way into his pocket. “Just got lucky is all.” 

“I think you’re playin’ me.” The man sneered as he grabbed Dean by the shoulders and backed him up against a support beam. “You’ll get lucky if I don’t mangle that pretty-boy face of yours. Hand over the money.” 

Dean made a show of thinking about it, eyes rolled upward, head tilting back and forth. 

“Nah. I’ll pass.” Dean smirked.

As the older man’s face screwed up in confusion, Dean reared his head back, then let loose, forward, head butting the guy square in the nose. Blood gushed instantly, the man letting go of Dean’s shoulders to raise his hand to his face. Dean ducked sideways, stepping away from him while at the same time, Sam jumped into motion, coming up behind the man. Dean was rearing back to throw a punch to the guy’s gut as Sam was reaching to grab his arms, but the guy had already wrapped his hand around a beer bottle on the edge of the pool table, smashed it against the edge leaving a jagged edge that he swung forward at Dean. Adjusting at the last second, Dean blocked the arm so the man couldn’t stab him with the bottle, while Sam latched onto his shoulder, spinning him enough to land a solid punch to his jaw. The bottle smashed to the ground, the man stumbled back, teetered for a few seconds, then joined the broken glass on the floor by the pool table. 

Dean grabbed his jacket with one hand, Sam’s arm with the other, and they were out the door and on the sidewalk in seconds, too fast for anyone else in the bar to stop them. A few more seconds and they were piling in the Impala and speeding off down the street. Dean was still chuckling as they pulled up to a stop light at the end of the block. 

“Just like old times, hey, Sammy?” 

“Yeah, a little too much like old times,” Sam said, hissing as he pulled his hand away from his side. It was covered in blood, the wetness glinting in the light of the streetlamp. 

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean’s jovial demeanor had morphed, instantly, into his all-too-familiar protector mode. “What happened?” 

“He caught me with that bottle as he was swinging.” Sam’s head was spinning –  adrenaline mixed with sudden blood loss always made him woozy. “It’s not that bad.” 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean pushed the accelerator as the light turned green and didn’t let up until they were back in the parking lot of the dorm. 

After a quick stop in the trunk for the med kit, Dean wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist and steadied him while they walked the short distance to the dorm, then up the stairs to Sam’s room. Dean flicked on the bright overhead light as they pushed through the door, then deposited Sam on the bed, instantly kneeling in front of him and pawing at his blood-soaked shirt to get to the wound. 

Sam felt better as soon as he was laying down, and was content to keep pressure on the old t-shirt Dean had put over the cut before he resumed rummaging through the bag of medical supplies. He let his eyes drift closed. 

“Sammy, c’mon… gotta let me look at this.” Dean’s voice was filled with that anxious desperation Sam had heard every time he’d ever gotten hurt. It was comforting. Dean pulled Sam’s hand away from his side, and Sam looked down to see the jagged tear in his skin, just above his hipbone. “Shit.” 

“Not that bad, Dean,” Sam muttered, letting his head drop back against the mattress. 

“Yeah, you’ll live, but I still need to stitch this up.” Dean started pulling more supplies out of the kit. “Get that shirt off for me, huh?” 

Sam complied, his head spinning when he sat up. He groaned when he dropped back down, closing his eyes against the greying vision. They flew open again when he felt Dean tugging at his jeans. 

“What’re you doing?” Sam blurted, hands instinctively grasping at Dean’s. 

“Just need more room to work, kiddo.” Dean pushed Sam’s hands out of the way and worked his fly open, then tugged the jeans and boxers partway down Sam’s hips. Sam felt his face heat up and he dropped his arm over his head, burying his blush in his elbow. 

He tried to focus on the pain in his hip, instead of the feeling of Dean’s hand on his bare skin. Sam mentally cursed himself for his brain going there at a time like this. He’d been naked in front of his brother dozens of times over the years, either from cramped quarters or for medical attention. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Hell, Dean had put stitches in Sam’s ass when he was fifteen, after a black dog dragged a claw from the middle of his back down to his thigh. There was nothing arousing about this. Yet Dean’s fingers, warm and gentle, were leaving trails of tingling heat everywhere they met Sam’s skin and despite his best efforts to think of anything else, his dick was still tuned in and starting to fill. Sam started to panic. He dropped his arm from over his face just as Dean was threading the needle. 

“Got any whiskey?” Sam said, distracting Dean from his task. 

“You getting soft on me, Sammy? Afraid of a few stitches?” Dean smirked, but turned to rummage through the bag, coming out with a pint of cheap rot-gut.

“Been a while.” Sam took the bottle and raised up on one elbow to swallow down as much as he could before the burn choked him. 

“Wuss.” Dean took the bottle back, then went to work. The slow swirl of alcohol haze numbed Sam’s senses quickly, and the first jab of the needle was no more than a pin-prick. It also numbed everything else, gratefully, and his dick stayed put through the whole process. 

Half an hour and eight neat, perfectly spaced stitches later, Dean was cleaning the cut again before covering it with gauze. He gathered up the trash and shoved the supplies back in the bag, then sat back on the floor in front of Sam, grabbing up the whiskey bottle and taking a long swig. Sam rolled onto his good side, facing his brother, and tucked his hands under his head. 

“You want me to come back, don’t you? That’s why you’re here?” Sam’s speech was only slightly slurred, the spinning of drunkenness fading slowly. 

“No.” Dean sighed, scrubbed a hand down his face. “No, Sammy. I wouldn’t try to stop you if you wanted to come back, but I know it’s not what you want.” 

“But–”

“And I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I showed up here and dragged you back into the same crap you’re trying to get away from. I didn’t mean for that to happen. Didn’t mean for you to get hurt.” 

“S’not your fault, Dean,” Sam said, voice soft.

“Yeah, it is. I know damn well how much you hate hustling. I know you wanted out to feel safe. But I just… shit, Sammy, I’m worried about you. And… dammit, I miss you.” 

“You… you miss me?” Sam propped himself up on an elbow. 

“Yeah, I fucking miss you.” Dean ducked his head. “I miss your smartass mouth, and driving around with you snoring in the passenger seat. You being there, having my back. It’s not the same without you. So, yeah, I miss you, and as soon as I had a hunt nearby I had to come see you. I didn’t mean for it to go like this, but… I saw how thin you are and I panicked. It’s like you’re wasting away out here and I just… I can’t let that happen, Sam, I just can’t.” 

Sam sat up when he heard the crack in Dean’s voice. He’d heard his brother talk like this two other times in their lives – once after Sam ran away in Flagstaff, and once just before he left for college. Sam swallowed thickly, trying to figure out what to say, but Dean continued on. 

“I know it’s fucked up, Sam. The way we’re tangled up in each other. Guess it’s the least way our lives are fucked up and I don’t blame you for wanting out. I don’t. I want you out, I want you safe. But at the same time, I hate not having you with me, I just… I want…” 

“What, Dean? What do you want?” 

“You. I want you, Sam. I know you don’t, not the same way. And I’m sick. I’m a sick fuck, but I can’t help it, I’m going nuts without you. I know you’ll want me gone after saying this, but fuck, Sammy… I just want you… can you just… just this once, can I–”

Sam cut Dean off by darting forward, mashing his lips to his brother’s in an awkward, imperfect, too-harsh kiss. Dean’s throat vibrated with a half-grunt, half whine that sent a chill up Sam’s spine. Then his hands were sliding up Sam’s arms, grazing over his biceps, past his shoulders and neck, coming to rest with fingers tangled in his hair. Sam’s whole body was trembling, his mind racing to figure out if this was real. Maybe it was a dream, he’d passed out from the booze and he’d wake up hours from now, hungover. Or maybe the whiskey had skewed his thinking and what Dean had said didn’t mean what he thought it meant, and any second now Dean would push him away, storm out of his room calling him a freak and he’d never see his brother again. 

Neither of those things happened, though, because Dean’s lips started moving against Sam’s, wet and warm and perfect. Sam whimpered quietly when Dean’s tongue pressed out, prying at Sam’s lips, a high-pitched squeak of a sound followed by Sam’s lips parting of their own accord, granting Dean access. Sam’s hands reached up, grabbing at the back of Dean’s shirt, pulling him closer. 

Dean took over then, tongue searching Sam’s mouth as he rose up to his knees and forward, pushing Sam back against the mattress as he moved, climbing on the bed on top of Sam. Dean’s hands were in motion, one still in Sam’s hair, brushing through the tangles and creating more as he curled the strands around his fingers. The other hand slid down Sam’s body, tracing a path down his torso, over his hip and latching on to his thigh to pull him close, locking their groins together. 

Sam felt tears spring up, leak out of the corner of his closed eyes, while at the same time his dick twitched and filled, pressing up against the weight of his brother’s body. Finally, finally this was happening, Dean’s body against his, his hands gripping, loosening the years of want, his mouth sucking all that desire up and out to the surface. He slipped his hands down across the expanse of Dean’s back, feeling the muscles roll under his fingertips, down over hips to the curve of Dean’s ass where he gripped, tugging, pulling him closer, tighter, past any remaining space between them. Dean’s hips thrust forward, and Sam could feel the hard line of his dick sliding against his own, causing a grunt to push out of his throat. Sam’s head spun, still not quite believing this wasn’t a dream, that Dean actually wanted this, too. 

Dean’s mouth turned more desperate, frantically moving his lips against Sam’s, his tongue searching, seeking, tasting every corner. Sam met every motion, kissing back just as hard, ignoring the sharp pain of teeth pressed against soft flesh, tasting every molecule of  _ Dean _ . His hips rolled up, stuttering as his cock twitched again and spurted precome, then going back for more, starting a staggered rhythm that Dean picked up, matched with his own hips. 

Sam’s boxers were soaked through when Dean finally slowed, pulling his mouth, red and swollen, from Sam’s. He pulled his head back only briefly, meeting Sam’s eyes long enough for both of them to register the contact, then he ducked down, mouth meeting the skin of Sam’s jaw and sucking kisses downward, along the long line of Sam’s neck to the curve where it meets shoulder, pausing long enough to bite and lave and suck a bruise into the tender flesh. 

“Dean… fuck, Dean…” Sam’s voice was broken and breathy, his hips shooting up roughly. Dean moved lower, trailing his mouth down over Sam’s chest, latching on to a nipple. He sucked and laved, tongue flicking out over the hardened tip, dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin making Sam groan and shudder, his back arching up. Sam felt like he might explode, die right here at the hands and mouth of his beautiful brother he thought he’d never have this way. Dean’s hand let loose his grip on Sam’s hip, sliding between them, palm pressing against Sam’s dick. He moaned, releasing his hold on Sam’s nipple and moving back up to suck at Sam’s lips again. 

“Sam… I want you, Sam…” 

“Have me,” Sam panted, desperate to keep this, to not wake up from this dream. “You have me, Dean.” 

Dean let out a whimper before devouring Sam’s mouth again, tongue pressing in and circling, dancing with Sam’s tongue. With a growl he pulled away, leaning up on his knees and ripping his shirt up and off, tossing it away. He reached down, snatching the waistbands of Sam’s jeans and underwear, dragging them down his legs, off and over the edge of the bed. He made equally quick work of his own pants, laying back on top of his brother as fast as he could, lowering himself down hip to hip, angled slightly to avoid the freshly stitched gash on Sam’s side, but still lining up the hot lengths of their cocks. He reached down, wrapping his hand around both of them, fingers circling around their shafts and pressing them tight together, starting up a slow rhythm of thrusts as he brought his mouth back to Sam’s, holding himself up on one elbow and again wrapping the fingers of that hand in Sam’s hair, tugging enough to pull Sam’s head back. 

Sam let out a moan at the fierce grip, all conscious thought leaving his brain, left with nothing but physical sensation, his body trembling and tingling, thousands of flaming pin-pricks running up and down his skin in wave after wave. His hips pressed up, his cock sliding through the grip of Dean’s fingers and dragging across the searing, smooth flesh of Dean’s dick, their motions in tune, matched perfectly to intensify every movement.

Dean’s mouth stopped moving, still pressed against Sam’s but now just panting, sharing breath. His thrusting sped up, the rhythm hitching as Sam met the increase in pace. A staccato beat of moaning pushed out of Dean’s throat as Sam felt his balls start to draw up tight, his hips thrusting up into Dean’s hand harder, chasing, growing frantic. 

Sam felt Dean’s thighs begin to tremble, heard his moans grow longer, then the spring coil of ecstatic tension let loose, his brother’s weight pushing it out of him, making his whole body shake, a shout flying up from his chest as his vision blurred and darkened and he was coming, his body a storm of pleasure, hot ropes spurting from his cock, soaking Dean’s hand and slicking their motion. Dean’s hips sped up with the eased movement and his body was tensing, too, his mouth crashing tight against Sam’s, teeth catching and biting down on his bottom lip as he shot pulse after pulse, the hot moisture sending Sam into an aftershock that pulled another long moan from him. 

Their writhing slowed, incrementally, as they both rode the wave, calmed their breathing, until, with a quiet hiss, Dean slipped his hand from their dicks, wiped it carelessly on the sheet and reached up to twine his fingers in Sam’s hair. He pressed his lips to Sam’s, lingering, the perfect pressure. Dean pulled their lips apart, peppering Sam’s face with quick kisses as he moved to the side, ducking his head into the curve of Sam’s neck where he stopped to catch his breath. 

Sam’s hands were pressed to his brother’s shoulders, gripping like a lifeline. Dean’s weight on top of him was crushing, but welcome – Sam thought he’d gladly suffocate, pass on from this life with his last moment, finally knowing the true force of his brother’s love. He whimpered, a tiny sound, as Dean rolled off of him. A sharp panic shot through him – his mind immediately sure that his brother was going to freak out, run off, never to be seen again. But Dean just moved to his side, then wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him against his chest. Sam felt the lightest of kisses pressed to his forehead as he drifted off to sleep. 

 

***

 

Sam wasn’t sure if it was the drips landing on his forehead, or the smell of smoke that woke him, but he opened his eyes in time to see angry orange flames burst across the ceiling. From the blinding haze he saw another dark drop fall, felt it land just below his hairline. He reached up, touched it with his fingers – when he looked, even in the skewed light, he knew it was blood. His eyes darted back to the ceiling, a figure emerging from the flames. Dean. His stomach sliced open, blood soaking and dripping from his white t-shirt, the flames licking at his skin, his mouth opening to scream, but Sam couldn’t hear anything but the hiss of fire. The green of Dean’s eyes was loudest of all, locked in terror….

“Sam!” Dean’s voice was loud, inches from his face and desperate enough to pull him from the dream. Sam gasped in a deep breath, opened his eyes and was met with his brother’s face – alive, not terrified, just concerned. “Hey, you alright?” 

Sam nodded, swallowing thickly. The tremble of fear worked its way back into the core of his body. 

“Yeah.” Sam nodded again. “Just… just a nightmare.” 

“You wanna talk about it?” Dean’s hand was gripped tightly at Sam’s uninjured hip, a reassuring pressure. Sam shook his head as he rubbed a hand across his face, wiping away the image of the dream with the sweat. 

“No, I’m good, Dean.” Sam shifted down on the mattress, settling back in. Dean leaned forward, pressed a kiss to Sam’s lips before laying back down next to him, arm draped across his middle, holding him close. 

Sam drifted off again, telling himself it was just a dream. He finally had the one thing he loved most, in every way he wanted. It wasn’t going to be taken away from him, not now….

 

The End.

 


End file.
